


Conjuring Love From the Ashes of an Old Flame

by DragonsPhoenix



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: Dolls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-17
Updated: 2010-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9183355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsPhoenix/pseuds/DragonsPhoenix
Summary: Drusilla has a spell to transform Angel back into Angelus but she needs Spike's ashes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Spike doll is based on [two knitted Spikes](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/200211.html) by whichclothes  
>  ~~The awesome banner was created by Shaken Silence~~ Banner lost when I deleted my LiveJournal account.  
>  Set after Bandy Candy but before Revelations  
> And I can't believe that, up till today, I forgot to credit [diebirchen](http://diebirchen.livejournal.com/) with the beta review. Fixes my grammar for me so this is readable for you. So, diebirchen, thank you very much!
> 
> Since I'm thinking of leaving LJ, I'm saving some older stories. I decided to keep this one because I adore how upset Willow is that she's lost her lucky pencil.

Dru, her white dress glowing like the reflected light of the moon as the false dawn lit up the sky, stood at the edge of the terrace, leaning over the fence as far as she could, as if she could reach the sea by stretching her body out just a bit further.

Spike ground his boot over a cigarette and circled around the pool to come up behind Dru. Putting an arm around her waist, he said, “Come back in, luv.”

Stretching out on her tiptoes, she leaned just a tad closer towards the sea. “But she's telling me ever so many secrets.”

“Sun is about to rise,” he said patiently. “You remember how it burned you last time, right pet?”

In a flash of vamp speed, quicker than any human would have been able to follow, Dru leaned against Spike. Holding out an arm before her, she stared at it intently. “Sharp flames burning like knives.”

Taking her by the hand, Spike pulled her towards the house. “That's right luv. Come back in where it's safe.” He led her through the living room, past the white leather couches that looked more like a suburbanite's wet dream than any beach house in Rio had a right to, up the stairs, and into the master bedroom. While the bed was a good size, it looked like something out of a hotel room, far too plain for Spike's princess although she hadn't complained, which had been a bit of a surprise given how particular she could get. Spike closed the shades, dark enough to keep the sunlight out, and drew blue gauze curtains over the shades, not that they made any difference in terms of light, but Dru liked the look of them. “And why is it we're staying on the bloody beach?”

“Because I need to commune with the sea, silly,” Dru said, tracing a finger across his cheekbone.

“Learn anything interesting?” he asked, leaning in with closed eyes, as he nuzzled her hair, losing himself in her scent.

“Oh yes,” Dru purred. “I don't think you'll like it much though.”

That brought him back. “But you're going to tell me, right? No secrets between us, luv.”

Stepping away, Dru tweaked a finger over his nose. “You'll find out soon enough.”

Spike should have known better than to be reassured by her words, but Dru had been gazing out at the sea for hours while he'd been getting hornier and hornier. Running a hand down her back, he said, “What do you say we get this...” He paused and looked confused, as if he hadn't noticed her dress. “Pet,” he said carefully. “What are you doing in such a pale, flowery getup? I mean, it's not pastels, quite, but it's not your usual vibrant colors either.”

She started swaying like a reed in a breeze. “Light and life balance against the darkness, like a seed buried in the earth; the light grows out of the dark, which itself grows out of the light.”

Spike shook his head. “Huh?”

“I can't bring the darkness back unless I myself am of the light.”

Cupping a hand over her ass, Spike said, “Well, if you want a bit of darkness, pet, all you had to do was ask.”

“Mummy's busy.” Slipping out of his grasp, Dru sat on the floor in a corner of the room.

“But,” Spike said.

Reaching into her leather bag, Dru pulled out black yarn, a set of knitting needles, as well as something roundish and pale that Spike couldn't immediately identify.

Spike, his curiosity getting the better of him, wandered over to take a look. “Didn't know you knitted.”

“Every girl could knit when I was growing up.” In a singsong voice she added, “I can knit, crochet, tat, and embroider the prettiest flowers you ever did see.”

Spike picked up the roundish bit. It was a knitted head with pale skin, yellow eyes, spikes of yellow hair, and bloody fangs sewn in with embroidery floss. “That supposed to be me?”

Nodding in agreement, Dru took the doll's head back from him and started knitting a black shirt below the neck. “So I can carry you everywhere I go, right here.” She put a hand to her bodice. “Next to my heart.”

“Don't need a doll to keep me in your heart,” Spike murmured as he leaned over to kiss her neck.

Dru smacked him away. “She told me I must get this done tonight.”

“Who told you?”

“The sea of course,” she said.

With a sigh, Spike sat on the bed and started pulling off his boots. “Don't suppose you'll be joining me anytime soon?” he called back. Dru kept knitting. He lay down on the bed with his hands across his torso and closed his eyes.

Spike had been asleep for hours by the time Dru tiptoed across the room, quietly so as not to awaken him. Brushing a hand across the doll, she traced down its black shirt and pants and then kissed Spike on the forehead, saying, “I know you don't wear white socks, but I wanted to make sure you could tell I'd put your boots on for you.” She set the scene very carefully, placing an Orb of Thesella, that had been hidden in her leather bag, at the bottom of the bed, just below where Spike's feet were hanging over, and then setting the doll on the floor a few feet away from the bed before positioning herself so that the three of them – the orb, the doll, and herself – formed a perfect equilateral triangle. After checking around the room with a quick glance, to make sure everything was perfect, Drusilla started chanting in a demonic tongue, not the spell to restore a soul, but a more ancient conjuring, her attention turning inwards as power took her over.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.” Spike's screams jolted Dru out of her trance.

She grabbed the doll and gave it a good shake. “Spike,” she said, “there was no need to frighten me so.”

He kept screaming, too terrified to form words.

Tossing the doll onto the bed, carefully so its landing didn't scatter the ashes, Dru picked up the orb. “We don't want this to get damaged, now do we? It'll be so very useful to us again.” She carefully wrapped the orb in a towel before placing it back in the bag.

A wooden box, its top painted in a black and white checkerboard pattern, sat on the dresser. Dru was carrying it to the bed, with both hands under the box as if it were a holy relic, when Spike finally found words. “What'd you do? What'd you do?”

Picking up his ashes with both hands, she let them drift into the box that she'd placed on the bed. “Now Spike, don't be cross with me,” she told the doll. “The sea told me I'll need the ashes to bring Daddy back.” Dru placed the lid on tightly and added the box to her bag.

Returning to the bed, she picked up the doll and gave Spike a kiss. “Give me my body back,” he shouted.

“Silly,” she said as she crammed Spike into her bodice. “There's no body to put you back into. Besides, I told you, I need the ashes.”

“Dru,” he warned. She pushed him in deeper. “Hey,” he yelled. “There's something in here. Get me out. Get me out.”

Reaching a hand into her bodice, Dru pulled the doll out. “What is wrong with you? Mummy's going to be very cross if you keep up this bad behavior.” Spike seemed to shiver even though he couldn't move. Wearing the look of a curious child, she put her other hand into the bodice and felt around. “Oh yeah,” she said, wriggling seductively as she pulled out a finger bone. “I'd forgotten about this.”

“That isn't that thing Angelus used to carry around, is it?”

“His father's finger,” Dru confirmed. “The only thing he ever cared about.”

“Except himself,” Spike muttered.

“Back in you both go.”

“No, don't put me back in with that thing. Look at it. Some of my yarn is caught on that abomination of Angelus'. You want me to be pulled away to nothing before you can get my body back?” As she shoved him back into her bodice, he added, “Dru, stop it!”

“Shhhh,” she said, placing a finger over her own lips. “Behave, or Mummy will be forced to gag you.”

* * *

 

The skeleton's hollow eyes were fixed on the table where Xander sat hunched over a textbook and skimming his finger over the jumble of words. “Capillaries? Oh God, what are those again? Veins? That has something to do with blood, right? Yeah, that's gotta be it; we must be studying blood because Mr. Davison has been doing that bad Dracula impersonation.” He slammed the book shut and said, “I'm never going to get this.” No one noticed. “I said I'm never going to get this,” he called out more loudly.

Cordy, sitting with Buffy one desk ahead of him, waved a hand without looking. “Hush, this is important.” Tapping Buffy's shoulder with the tip of one finger, immaculately manicured in the trendiest shade of peach, Cordy said, “I normally wouldn't ask you, given your lack of fashion sense, but I need to pick out the new cheerleader outfits by fourth period.”

“Gee, thanks,” Buffy replied.

“Don't worry, it's not like I expect you to suddenly have taste. Just tell me what you do and don't like; I'll probably go with the opposite of what you recommend. Now,” Cordy added, pointing to an outfit in the catalog. “I really love this short top, because it would show off my abs like nobody's business, but there's no way Harmony could pull it off.”

At the front of the room, Mr. Davison was glancing through a pile of unmarked tests. To his right, students were streaming in from the hallway. Willow, holding her textbooks precariously under one arm while sorting through her purse, crashed into a couple of jocks who'd parked themselves right inside the door. “Oops, sorry,” she said, squishing the books with her arm so they wouldn't fall. She kept ransacking through her purse as she walked to the far end of the room, along the windows towards the back table. Absentmindedly dropping her books, she sat next to Xander without really noticing him.

“Willow,” he exclaimed.

“Hey Xander,” she said, not looking up from her purse.

He leaned over and tickled his fingers up her spine. As Willow screamed, pencils and erasers flew everywhere. Xander, as he pulled his arm off of Willow, leaped up from his chair and stumbled backwards as it fell to the floor with a loud crash.

Buffy scanned the room looking for trouble, while Cordy turned and asked, “What is your trauma?”

Not seeing any immediate threats, Buffy asked Willow if she was OK.

“I can't find my pencil,” Willow exclaimed.

“Well, there are plenty rolling around on the floor,” Cordy said. “Does your dad own a pencil factory or something?”

“No, you don't get it. My lucky pencil – it's gone!”

“I'm sure it's down here somewhere,” Buffy said as she started chasing down pencils.

“That's just it. I've been looking and looking. It's not there. I'm doomed to academic failure,” Willow cried.

“Come on, Will,” Xander said. “Let's get this straight. I'd have flunked out years ago if you hadn't been here to help me. You study way too much to ever fail.” At Willow's glare he added, “And by that, I mean you study exactly enough. Right Buffy?”

“Huh?” Buffy asked, dumping pencils on the table. As they started rolling away, she slapped her hands down, trying to stop them before they fell off the table again.

“Help me out here,” Xander begged.

“Wait,” Cordy said. “I thought your lucky pencil was like your security blanket or something. How'd you manage to lose that?”

“I'm not sure, but maybe it fell when I was running away from Drusilla.”

“Drusilla?” Buffy shouted. A couple of heads turned their way. “Drusilla?” she repeated in a whisper. “I didn't hear about this, why?”

“Well, she let me go, and then Oz called, and after that it was late,” Willow replied.

“She let you go? Why didn't she just kill you?” Cordy asked. At Buffy and Xander's glares, she added, “What? I'm just wondering. Undead evil not killing Willow. Come on, you have to ask why.”

“As much as it pains me to agree, Cordy does have a point,” Buffy said.

“It was kinda weird, but I figured it was Drusilla so what would you expect.” Willow quickly looked over the pencils on the table and then threw her hands in the air. “No lucky pencil. I'm doomed to fail this test.”

Buffy, with a roll of her eyes, went to fetch the few stray pencils she'd missed.

“Will, I think you're losing the big picture here. Still alive,” Xander said.

“I get that,” Willow stated. Seeing three sets of blank stares, she added, “No, I really do, but that was last night. I've got a test today, and I'm going to fail.”

With a dismissive flick of her hair, Cordy turned back to her catalog, saying, “Maybe Drusilla needed the luck.”

“That's it,” Willow exclaimed.

“Drusilla needed your lucky pencil for a test?” Xander asked. “Wait, why would a demon be taking a test?”

“No, but she was twirling something pencil sized between her fingers.”

Buffy dropped more pencils on the table. “You stopped to look?”

“Well, before I ran.” Seeing that Buffy was about to start in on a big 'how to avoid getting eaten by demons' lecture, as if Willow hadn't grown up on the Hellmouth, she added, “I wanted to know where she was.”

“Why would she take your pencil?” Buffy asked.

“Maybe she wants me to fail school, drop out, and become one of those kids who hang out behind the bleachers, all vulnerable, what with the being out at night and on drugs and all.”

“Willow, it sounds like she had you last night,” Xander said.

“Well yeah,” Willow temporized, “but this is Drusilla we're talking about. Who knows what kind of illogical thoughts go into her evil schemes.”

“Please take your seats,” Mr. Davison called out from the front of the room.

“Oh no,” Willow moaned as Buffy sat down. “You can get my lucky pencil back, can't you Buffy?”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“Oh good, it's one of these yellow ones,” Willow said, holding up a pencil, “about this much shorter than this one, and it's got a little nick to one side, right around here, about a half-inch – no, about a third of an inch long.” The teacher told the class to quiet down as Willow paused to think of more details to help Buffy find the right pencil.


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy walked into the mansion without knocking and stopped short, frozen in place, at the sight of Angel practicing tai chi. As she watched his slow, gentle movements, she thought of his caresses and how his most feather-light touch could send shivers down her spine. “Oh.”

 

He looked up. “Buffy.”

 

“Um, hi,” she said.

 

She retreated as he walked toward her until she found herself by the couch. As she sat, he asked, “What are you doing here?” Her head bolted up. “I mean, it's day. You're usually here at night.”

 

Shrugging she said, “I wasn't even sure you'd be awake.”

 

Sitting down next to her, he reached his hands towards hers. Their fingers touched, and he pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned. “Why are you here?”

 

“Drusilla's in town,” she said bluntly. His gaze, which had been lowered toward his hands, jolted up to look Buffy squarely in the face. “I need your help, keeping an eye on Willow and Xander, after dark that is, if you're up to it.”

 

“I can handle Dru,” he said. “Do you know why she's here?”

 

“No, but she attacked Willow last night.”

 

“Is Willow all right?” Angel asked.

 

“Yeah, Drusilla let her go,” Buffy replied.

 

“Dru wouldn't do that,” Angel said. “Not unless she was playing a bigger game.”

 

“No idea,” Buffy said as she stood. “I wanted to check in with you so I could let Willow and Xander know before the sun sets.”

 

“Let me take Willow.”

 

“Huh?” Buffy asked. “Why?”

 

“Xander wouldn't like me following him around,” Angel replied.

 

“That's true enough,” Buffy said. “I've got to get back to school. I ran here during a free period, but it's almost over.”

 

“I'll see you tonight?”

 

Buffy nodded. Gazing at Angel, she felt as if she couldn't breathe. “I really do have to go.” When Angel reached over to tuck in a wisp of her hair, Buffy jerked her head back. “Right, class.”

 

Angel watched from the shadows of the doorway until Buffy was out of sight and then turned to ponder what Dru might be up to.

 

* * *

 

That evening Dru strolled into the mansion from the garden. “Daddy? Are you here?” She wandered through the main room, past the fireplace full of ashes, and into Angel's bedroom. As she clapped her hands she said, “Daddy's left the great big castle for me to play in, all to myself.”

 

Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back, stretched her arms out wide, and started twirling in place. After a few moments, she called out, “Psst, psst, psst, where are you?” She stopped. Addressing a trunk at the far end of the room, she said, “There you are and so much easier to find than I'd have expected.” She tripped over, dancing lightly on her feet, and opened the trunk, which was empty except for a small stone box, carved with a geometric pattern. Dru opened the box and tossed it aside after she'd pulled out the scarf.

 

Holding up the scarf, which was still a vibrant splash of reds and golds even after such a long time, she let one end drape down along her bosom as she inhaled its scent. “You smell of Daddy and not at all like that nasty gypsy girl whose blood you wear.”

 

“It stinks of Angel.” The voice came from her bosom. Looking down between her breasts, Dru saw tiny yarn hairs sticking out from a white head. “Could we re-embody me already? This is bloody boring.”

 

“Nothing for you,” Dru scolded. “You've been a very naughty boy, bringing in the Slayer to kill Daddy, and shall have neither tea nor crumpets.” Spike sighed but didn't try to argue. He had to depend on her whims to get his body back.

 

Hearing a door open, Dru stuffed the scarf down her bosom, covering Spike. “Hey,” he shouted. “Get it off.”

 

Dru shushed the doll. Stepping into the main room, she whispered, “Daddy?”

 

Angel, waiting by the door, picked her up with one hand and slammed her against the wall. Putting his mouth to her ear, he asked, “Why are you here, Dru?”

 

“Not Daddy yet,” she mourned.

 

Angel dropped her and walked away. He didn't want to harm his Childe. As she landed lightly on her feet, he turned to her once again. “I'm giving you this one chance. Get out of town, or I'll kill you myself.”

 

“If I leave now, I shall miss the party. I'm sure you wouldn't want that.”

 

“What party?”

 

Dru smiled. “The Dragon is killed by the Lover, and the Beloved released from his thorny prison. All the nasty barbs holding him in check dissolve away.”

 

“You've had a vision? What is it? A new demon?”

 

Dru danced backward and out into the garden. “You shall have to wait and see, but when you see Daddy, say that I am looking for him.”

 

Angel thought about chasing after her, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. It was almost impossible to make sense of her visions when she'd decided to be mysterious about them and besides, he really was hoping she'd take his advice and leave Sunnydale.

 

* * *

 

Dru stood in the street, staring at the doors, leading from garden to bedroom, covered with white gauze curtains that even a human could see through. “No, that's not the way at all. It would be very, very blatant,” she said. “A lady must be demure. We shall need to be as subtle as church mice.”

 

“Yeah, because that's what rodents are known for, their subtlety,” Spike said.

 

“Hush,” Dru told the doll. “I shall need to concentrate quite ferociously to find the perfect place amongst all these Tweedledum and Tweedledee houses.” As she randomly pointed at houses, Dru chanted, “Eenie meenie miney moe. Catch a human; eat its toe.” As she finished, she was pointing to a two-story house that was three down from Willow's home. “Perfect,” she said with a laugh, running over to ring the bell.

 

“Yes, what is it?” the man asked as he yanked open the door. “Oh, ummm, hello my dear.” He ran a hand down the front of his wrinkled shirt.

 

“I'm having a bit of trouble,” Dru said.

 

“Tell him it's your car, and ask if you can use the phone,” Spike prompted.

 

“Shhhh,” she replied.

 

The man scanned the yard, trying to see whom she was shushing. “Are you feeling all right?”

 

Dru's gaze danced about. “I do feel a bit dizzy.”

 

“Well then, you come right on in,” he said, offering her his arm.

 

“Thank you,” Dru replied, resting one hand on his wrist.

 

“Oh no, thank you,” he said with a smile, emphasizing the word “you.” “It's rare for an old bachelor like me to have such lovely, erm, charming company. Would you care for a drink? There's a bottle of wine I've been saving for a special occasion.”

 

“I am looking for something specific,” Dru said as she shifted into vamp-face.

 

“No,” he shouted, backing away. As Dru took a step towards him, he tripped over a tv table and fell to the floor. His screams ended very quickly.

 

“That was unexpectedly tedious,” Spike drawled.

 

“Unfortunately I couldn't take my time with him,” Dru sighed. “We shall be very busy tonight.”

 

“Getting my body back?” Spike asked hopefully.

 

“Getting Daddy back.”

 

When Dru needed the finger bone, she'd pulled it and the doll out of her bodice, propping Spike on the counter where he'd be out of her way. Furious that she'd chosen Angelus over him and starting to worry that she meant to keep him as a doll forever, Spike, too angry to speak to her, silently watched as Dru painted the symbol for Venus, a cross topped by a circle, on the tiled kitchen floor.

 

Within five minutes, her potion was boiling on the stove. Placing the finger bone, along with a lighted black candle, inside the Venus symbol, Dru then took Willow's pencil and held it above the potion. She twirled it in her fingers as she called out the invocation, “Diana, Goddess of Love and the Hunt, I pray to Thee. Let my cries bind the heart of Willow Rosenberg. May she neither rest nor sleep until she submits” – Dru continued and dropped the pencil into the potion, fiery sparks trailed together and danced overhead – “to the will of the lord of Aurelius.” Dru, ignoring Spike's snort of disgust, waited until the sparks had joined into one great, bright light before blowing the candle out.


	3. Chapter 3

Willow, waking from a sound sleep, sat up straight in the bed and shouted out his name. “Angelus.”

She remembered the first time they'd met, how he'd grabbed her in the hallway, ignoring her terror or maybe he hadn't ignored it. Maybe he'd enjoyed it. She hoped so. He'd held her tightly to him, and his caresses had left black and blue marks on her chin. She rubbed her face, as if she could feel the bruises still and make his touch tangible again.

Her mind reeled as she tried to make sense of the two who shared one body, Angel who had walked her home earlier that evening, and Angelus who was dead. Dead. Angelus, her beloved, was dead, and by her own hand. She was the one who had worked out the spell that restored Angel's soul. “No,” she whispered into the darkness.

Willow was working out the best way to kill herself – not the actual details of it – but should it be quick and painless so she could join him in, well wherever he was, or should she make it slow or at least torturous, punishing herself for killing him – when she saw a small glimmer of hope, a tiny spark that was almost overwhelmed by the darkness but there all the same. Angel had said that the demon was always there, but that he controlled it, keeping Angelus in some soft of a cage inside his head. “All I have to do is find a way to get rid of Angel's soul.”

Once she had a course of action, Willow practically flew across the room to get to her computer. Pulling up the soul restoration spell, she scanned it intently, looking for any clue that might help her bring Angelus back. She didn't see anything she could use. Sitting back, she spoke slowly and carefully, as if trying to work out the logic of something. “I can't do this here. I need more than a computer but all the research books are at the library.” Willow knew she was lying to herself. She didn't need Giles' books, not with OccultNet a few clicks away, but she wanted to see Angel. True, he wasn't Angelus, but they did share the same body, and he was as close as she could get at the moment.

She dialed his number and paced impatiently, chanting “Don't call him Angelus. Don't call him Angelus. Don't call him Angelus,” until he picked up. “Angel, good, you're there. I think there might be a way to restore your soul permanently,” she said, crossing her fingers against the lie. “I need some books, but they're at the library. I was sort of hoping to look at them tonight.” After a pause, she added, “Well, yeah, it could wait, but this did seem kind of important.” There was another short pause, and she added, “OK, see you then.”

Bouncing up and down and practically bounding around the room, Willow shouted, “He's coming here.” As she swung an arm out, she caught a glimpse of her old comfy pajamas, full of Winnie the Pooh characters romping around a meadow. “He's coming here,” she cried in dismay. “I can't let him see me like this!”

Ten minutes later Angel knocked on her bedroom doors, the ones that led directly out to the yard. “Come in.” Willow was sitting on the bed, facing him and patting a spot right beside her. “Sit next to me.”

“I thought you wanted to get to the library,” he said, taking in the very short black dress she had on.

“I was hoping we could talk a bit first,” she replied.

“Willow, I don't have time for games.”

“No.” She stood and walked to him. “I just thought that,” she started to say as she brushed a hand down his chest, “we don't know each other very well.” Angel grabbed her hand and held it away. Willow looked up at him through her eyelashes. “And I thought we could get to know each other better.” She stepped in closer and held her lips up to his. “Much better.”

“What's wrong with you?” he asked.

“Nothing. Why would something be wrong?”

“You aren't acting like yourself,” he said.

“Well, people grow and change. I'm more mature now than I used to be and, you know. When people grow sometimes they grow closer, and they can change in ways that bring them together.”

Angel took a step back.

“What's wrong, Angelus?” Willow asked.

The demon inside of Angel took notice. Some little human was offering herself, and Angel was rejecting her? Typical of the stupid sod.

“Please,” Willow said. “I know I've never had a lover before, and you probably want someone with experience, but you could teach me.” Her voice rose in hope. “I'm an excellent learner.”

Angelus watched as Angel latched onto the word “lover.” Dru had said something about lovers or releasing the beloved. He should have paid more attention to her ramblings. With one great concerted effort, the demon focused his powers and shoved Angel out of the way. “Willow my love.”

She smiled hopefully. “Angelus?”

His lips curled into a smirk. “We don't have much time. I can't keep Angel at bay for long. I need you to free me, Willow, so we can be together forever.”

Willow nodded eagerly. “I can look online and through Giles' books. There has to be something that will tell me how to remove the soul.”

Angelus grabbed her throat and squeezed. “You don't know yet?”

Willow tried to choke out a response.

“Useless,” Angelus said, throwing her to the floor. “You're useless to me.” His growl turned to a scream of defeat as Angel took their body back.

He knelt down by Willow and asked, “Are you OK?”

“Please,” she said, reaching out to brush her fingers across his face, tracing a gentle touch over his cheek. “Please let Angelus back out.”

“Willow, it's a spell. Dru put a spell on you. Come on, you have to remember that you've never loved Angelus,” he said.

“I've been blind, but I see now. I'll free you, my love.”

He stood and stepped out of her reach. “I'll get Buffy. I promise Willow. We’ll find a way to break this spell.”

As he vanished into the night, Willow called out, “Love?”

Dru stepped out of the shadows. “You already know how to break the spell that binds Angelus.”

Willow sat up. “How?” When Dru didn't respond, Willow stood and grabbed a pencil. “Tell me, or I'll stab this through your heart.”

“You're not very clever, are you? It has been done before.”

“With Buffy?” Willow said, her voice sounding as dead as a grave. “You want him to, well you know, with her?” The pencil snapped in her hand. “I'll kill him first.”

“Now with her,” Dru said, “but with you. Angel gave you the clue.” When Willow didn't reply, she explained. “One little love spell, and Angel will find perfect happiness in your arms. Poof, the soul is gone, and Daddy's back.”

“But Angelus defeated Angel already. He spoke to me,” Willow said.

“Not for long,” Dru singsonged. “Angel will keep Daddy away forever and ever, unless you kill him now. He's already out there, searching for the Slayer, and working against you. Working against Angelus.”

“What do I have to do?”

Drusilla glanced pointedly at the door.

“Come in,” Willow stammered, afraid of the vampire but more afraid of losing her beloved.

Dru pulled the Spike doll out of her bodice. Willow felt a fascination, almost a connection with the doll. “What is that?”

“This is my sweet Spikey,” Dru said, cradling him in her arms. “We'll need his ashes for the spell. To bind a vampire to love, you must have something that ties back to his bloodline. We will also need this,” she said, pulling a red and gold scarf out of her bodice, “for Angel himself.”

“A scarf?” Willow asked in disbelief.

“It belonged to the gypsy girl who cost Daddy his freedom, whose death trapped Daddy in a cage of flesh and bone and Angel's steely will.”

Willow hissed at the scarf, hating the thing that had cursed her beloved.

“You'll have to boil the potion,” Dru prompted.

“Will the stove do? My parent's aren't home, so we can use the kitchen.”

“I suppose,” Dru replied with a sigh. “I miss the good old days when we used fire for these things.”

“A stove will be quicker and less dangerous,” Willow said. “Are you ready? Can we do it now?”

“Yes. We should do it quickly, before Angel finds the Slayer and spoils things. I have everything we need here,” Dru said, shifting her leather bag into view.

As Dru led Willow through the spell – creating the symbol, making the potion, and the wording of the invocation – she mused on how lucky she'd been to find such a powerful witch so close to Angel. Binding a vampire took quite a bit of power, more than Dru herself had, but the tiny human had magic to spare.

As the potion began to boil, Dru pointed to the top of the symbol of Venus, and said, “Stand in the circle.” Handing over the scarf, which had been tied into a small pouch so that it could hold a handful of Spike's ashes, she said, “Twirl this over the potion. The more you stir up the energy, the more powerful the spell will be.” Lights sparked, flamed, and flew up, dancing like tiny spinning stars as Willow worked her magic. “That's exactly right,” Dru crooned. “When you feel the energy peak, drop the scarf into the potion.”

“Diana, Goddess of Love and the Hunt,” Willow intoned. “I pray to Thee, let my cries bind the heart of the lord of Aurelius.”

“You know, pet, I'm just as much the lord of Aurelius as he is, maybe more so. Not like he hasn't been out of commission for decades.”

“Shhh,” Dru whispered, her gaze steady on the spell.

As the tiny sparks flew together into one flame whose light flashed through the room, Willow dropped the scarf, ashes and all, into the potion. “May he neither rest nor sleep until he submits to my love.”

Turning to Dru, Willow demanded, “Did it work? Will he be here?”

“Be patient,” Dru said with a confident smile. “He'll most likely look for you in your bedroom.”

As Willow raced to her room, Dru slipped out the back door and hid herself in the shadows, waiting for the play to begin.

In her room, barely noticing she'd lost Dru, Willow was babbling. “What if it didn't work? What if the spell hurt Angelus? I might never see him again.” Willow had been pacing, terrified that she'd harmed Angelus somehow, for less than three minutes before Angel, arriving so quickly he seemed to be suddenly there, filled the doorway.

“Willow.”

“Angel?” She very carefully didn't use Angelus' name, knowing it would ruin the moment and hurt her one chance to get him back, but then they were in each other's arms, and if Willow had stopped to think she would have realized she didn't know which of them had moved, but she was lost, knowing if they kissed she would drown in him forever. She didn't hesitate. As their mouths met, she shoved her lips against his as if mere force could bind them closer together.

“Gently love.” He shushed her with long, lazy kisses as if they had all the time in the world. Taking her hand, he nibbled along the length of one finger with just his lips, not even bringing human teeth into play. His gaze caught hers as his tongue started slowly tickling the sensitive underside of her wrist, and his touch, hands brushing up thigh, under breast, down back, anywhere they could reach, seemed to leave fire in their wake, and the burning was a holy thing, sanctifying her, as if his desire alone was all that was needed to purify her very soul.

As he tasted his way up her arm, she threw her head back, baring her neck to anything he might do to her. He bit down, finally letting her feel his teeth, but didn't break skin. As her shaking legs gave way, Willow felt his arms lifting her, pulling her close, and carrying her to the bed.

Sitting on the bed with Willow across his lap, Angel traced his fingers along her lips as if memorizing every contour. When she licked her tongue over the tip, he slipped his finger into her mouth, closing his eyes as if losing himself. A tickling down her back told Willow that he'd found her zipper. Wrapping her hands around his hand, she tugged at it until he let her pull his finger out of her mouth. Desperate to be naked against him, she let go of his hand and shimmied the black dress up her hips until it bunched against her waist. Angel, taking her hands in his, raised them so they reached up above her body in a graceful arc before grabbing at the black fabric and pulling it up and off of her. Dressed only in a pair of black silk panties, almost naked with a man for the first time in her life, Willow didn't feel self-conscious, but could only think that he had too many clothes on. As she reached under his dark turtleneck, rubbing her way up his abs, he ripped off his sweater so quickly that it was gone before she could blink. Running her hands up his body, she traced across his chest, much broader than she'd imagined, and up along his collarbone, finishing with her arms wrapped around him.

A tear rolled down Willow's cheek when she realized that touching could never be enough. She wanted to be so far inside of him she'd never find her way back out again, but she knew that was impossible. “It's all right Willow,” he said, licking the salty trail off her cheek. “What do you want?”

“Want?” she asked, looking dazed. “I need to be so close to you that I don't know where you end and I begin.”

Carefully, as if she were fine porcelain, he rolled her over until she was lying near the bottom edge of the bed. Holding two fingers, one on each side of her panties, he pulled them down, taking the time to tickle her legs in passing. His own pants were gone in a flash, as if he couldn't wait to be in her. As he pulled her up to a sitting position before laying himself down on the bed, Angel smiled at Willow's confusion. “I want you on top,” he explained, but then he turned his head away as if he didn't deserve to even look at her. “I'm afraid I'll hurt you.”

Willow leaned over and insistently rubbed along his jaw until he turned his head toward her. “Never be ashamed of your strength,” she said. In one quick movement, she slid onto his shaft, watching his eyes shift out of focus as he gasped in sudden pleasure. She eased herself all the way down and then held herself there while he seemed to expand and fill her completely. Then, with a hitch of breath, she threw herself down on him, locking her lips onto his as she found her rhythm, her hips shifting back and forth and back and forth, and then he was moving with her, faster and faster, and for a moment they were one, and then he was screaming out her name.

In the afterglow Willow almost cried. While they'd been making love, she'd allowed herself to forget that he wasn't Angelus, but now that they were done it was so obvious he was Angel and not her beloved, that she couldn't keep the tears from her eyes. Afraid of ruining the moment, she kept her peace and let him think they were tears of joy. Curling up above him, she laid his head on her shoulder and sang love songs as he fell asleep. “The first time ever I saw your face...”

Angel had been asleep for about five minutes before he woke with a gasp and fell to the floor. “Willow,” he shouted as she looked down on him from the bed. “Something's wrong.” His eyes glowed with a yellow light as his soul started flickering out of his body. “Run,” he screamed at Willow before the pain took him over completely.

Willow held her breath until he jumped to his feet with a self-satisfied air. “Angelus?” she whispered.

He ran a finger down her neck and shifted into vamp-face. “It's been too long since I've had human blood.”

Leaping from the bed, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him as she shouted, “Oh thank God! I thought it hadn't worked and that I'd never free you.”

Angelus, confused for a moment as human arms and legs wrapped around him, felt a sense of disappointment as he recalled the love spell. He'd been looking forward to torturing Willow, but only an idiot abandoned such devotion for no good reason. Cradling her in his arms, he answered, “Ah lassie, I knew you'd do it. Such a resourceful little thing you are.” As she stood on her toes to kiss him, Angelus felt a stirring in his loins. “And why not?” he whispered, cupping her ass. “What would you do for me, Willow?”

“Anything.”

“Good girl,” he replied absentmindedly as he nibbled along her neck. The blood pumping just past his teeth tore away his human face. As fangs grazed over unprotected skin, he yanked himself off her and shoved her away. He'd need to feed, and soon, if he was going to keep Willow alive.

Willow stepped to him, the look on her face so open and trusting that Angelus wanted to lash out until she was trembling and bleeding at his feet. As she brushed fingers across his ridges and asked him what was wrong, he shifted to his human face. “I want you on the bed.” Needing to hear her scream, even if he couldn't do visible damage, he added, “On all fours.”

As he rubbed his hands over her ass, Willow leaned into his touch. His cock hardened at the thought of hurting her. Pushing her cheeks apart, he slipped a finger into her anus. Willow squeaked with pain. “You're so tight,” he said, wanting to shove his cock into her, hard and fast, knowing she'd not only let him, but welcome it, but also aware that he couldn't break her, not yet at least. Reluctantly he slid two fingers into her cunt, shoving them in and out until they were covered with her come. As he smeared her juices onto his cock, lubricating himself, he told her what he wanted. “You're going to spy on Buffy for me. I need to know what she knows, when she knows it, and what she's planning. I need everything.” He leaned over and kissed her shoulder. “You'll do that for me?”

“Yes, whatever you want.”

Wrapping his hands around her hips, hard enough to leave bruises, he shoved his cock into her anus. Her screams drove Angelus' pleasure. As he shoved himself forward, plunging deeply into her time and time again, he yanked her ass backwards, brutally increasing the pressure while Willow grabbed at the sheets, trying to find some small stability.


	4. Chapter 4

Drusilla, who'd watched Angel make love to Willow with unveiled interest, left when Daddy started kissing the girl. Angelus didn't appreciate being spied upon and was good at taking out his displeasure on others. Besides, she knew Daddy would come looking for her soon enough.

She assumed Daddy was happy to be back, but Spike didn't seem pleased. Of course, he'd been upset ever since she'd dusted him. Drusilla didn't see what his problem was; she'd told him the ashes were important, and she'd made him a new body, one that wouldn't allow him to threated Daddy. Why couldn't he see it was better this way?

“You honestly think Angelus is going to have time for you now that you've got him loving Willow?” The pain in Spike's voice, even if that voice could only be heard inside her head, put Drusilla on guard, and she decided not to tell him that Angelus didn't love Willow.

Instead, Drusilla kissed the doll and said, “Silly thing, haven't you learned yet? Love is never eternal.”

* * *

 

The next morning, while rummaging through her locker and trying to justify why she was at school rather than in Angelus' arms, someone tickled fingers over her shoulder. She screamed.

“Whoa,” Oz said.

“What are you doing here?” she said in an artificially chipper voice.

“Wondering what's wrong with you.”

“Wrong? There's nothing wrong. Why should anything be wrong?” Willow babbled.

“For one, you just hit the ceiling.”

“Oh.” She wasn't sure what to say. She couldn't tell him the truth, that she was lost in thoughts of Angelus, but she couldn't think up a lie.

“Is it about Drusilla?” he asked.

“Drusilla?” she replied, wondering what he meant. “Oh,” she said, realizing he was referring to the night Drusilla had stolen her pencil. “Yes, because she's a big, scary vampire, and well not big compared to Angelus.” Willow trailed off there, certain she should not have mentioned Angelus. She wasn't supposed to let on that he was back.”

“Willow, it's OK. I get it. Delayed reaction to vampire attack. Not like we haven't all been there,” he said.

“Right,” Willow said with a nervous laugh.

He laid his hand on her arm, and Willow could tell he meant it as comfort, but all she wanted to do was pull away and race off to Angelus to beg forgiveness for letting someone else touch her. “You're OK though?” he asked.

Willow put on her best brave soldier face and agreed that she was fine.

Apparently she convinced him because he changed the topic. “You're coming to the Bronze tonight, right?”

“No!” Willow shouted, appalled at the idea of anything that would keep her away from Angelus. “I mean, big history test tomorrow. I have to study. History is important because if you don't know you're history then you don't know where you came from or even who you are.”

“You said you were ready for that test.”

“Well,” she replied, “I thought so, but now I'm feeling less than ready.”

The bell rang. “Gotta go, or I'll be late,” he said, backing down the hall. He paused and gave her a concerned look. “You sure you're OK?”

“Yeah,” she said with a chipper smile that felt forced but must have looked all right because he merely nodded before sauntering down the hall.

Willow's first class was advanced French, which her friends weren't taking. She usually found it discouraging to be in a class without Buffy and Xander, but that day it was a blessing because Willow was finding it hard to concentrate on anything outside of Angelus. Less than ten hours until dusk, and surely Angelus would be at her door as soon as the sunlight, or lack thereof, let him, especially given how hard Willow found it to be away from him for even an hour much less the entire day. It must be torturing him, waiting and wanting but unable to reach out because, ouch, sunlight would totally kill him, and maybe it was time to think about something more pleasant. She thought about how romantic it would be if they could speak French to each other, and then wondered if he spoke French. He probably did, given that he'd had over a hundred years to pick up the language, if he'd wanted to. It seemed strange to be so in love but know so little about him. The killing and torture, sure she had plenty of details on that from Giles, but she didn't know Angelus the man or, well, vampire. What did he love? What did he hate? There was Buffy; he hated her. He must because he wanted Willow to spy on her. He had loved Buffy, but that had been Angel, not Angelus, which made it sort of OK. He'd better not love Buffy. No, he wanted to kill Buffy. That meant he must hate her. You don't kill people you love. If Buffy were already dead, then the whole did her or didn't he question would go away. Maybe she could kill Buffy for him. It wasn't like she could take Buffy in a fight, but Buffy trusted her. It would be easy to sneak poison into, well, something. No, that probably wouldn't be a good idea. She was sure Angelus would want to kill Buffy himself.

Willow's next class was chemistry, held in the science classroom, the room with the skeleton. It was only plastic but, based on what she'd seen of bones after fighting demons for three years, pretty realistic. Buffy was already sitting at a table, looking over her notes, when Willow plopped down next to her. “So, what'cha going to do about Angelus?” Willow wanted to clap a hand over her mouth. Not only was that like the lamest of lame lines ever, but she'd mentioned Angelus again. Maybe she wasn't good at keeping secrets.

“What?” Buffy almost shouted. Yep, really bad with the secrets.

“Angel! Angel, Angel, Angel,” she babbled. “I was just wondering how it was going with you and Angel, and not Angelus at all because of course he's not back because we'd be finding dead puppies and fish and stuff.”

“OK, calm down Willow. How much coffee have you had today?”

“Um, none?”

“Willow,” Buffy admonished.

Willow, who really hadn't had any coffee although that was sort of surprising because she'd been up all night, what with releasing Angelus and all, so she should be really tired, but...

“Willow?” Buffy asked.

Willow squealed as Buffy snapped fingers in her face. “Maybe a cup or two,” she lied, wanting to give Buffy a reason why she was so jumpy. “I kinda didn't get much sleep.” She shut up, afraid if she started rambling she'd get into why she hadn't slept, which would lead to Angelus and that would lead to big badness.

“It's OK,” Buffy said, putting a hand on Willow's. “I talked to Oz. He told me.”

“Told you what?” Willow asked, wondering how much he knew and how he even could know there was anything to know much less what it was.

“You don't have to put on a brave face. I know you're more freaked out by Drusilla than you're letting on,” Buffy said.

“Oh that,” Willow replied. “Well, I just didn't want you to think I'm a scaredy cat or anything.”

“Nobody thinks that. Drusilla is a seriously creepy vampire, sort of disturbing with her mental problems, but it's not like that makes her any less evil. I just want you to know I'm here if you want to talk about it.”

“Ummm, could we maybe not talk about me anymore?” Willow asked.

“OK, but you do know I'm here for you, right?” Willow nodded but didn't speak. After a moment Buffy added, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make a big deal out of this, from now on I'll be small-deal Buffy.”

“I was sort of serious when I asked about Angel,” Willow said, wanting to both change the subject and get information for Angelus.

Buffy sighed. “It's not.” Willow repressed a grin of triumph, hating the thought of Buffy with Angel; even if he wasn't Angelus, he was almost Angelus, and he was hers. “We can't do anything so it's all looky and no touchy.” Willow gripped the tabletop so fiercely, at the thought of Buffy touching Angel, that her knuckles whitened under the pressure but, knowing Angelus wanted her in the Slayer's good graces, she came up with some sort of comforting comment and tried not to let her anger show as Buffy droned on about how tough it all was.

Willow spent the rest of the day in a blur, hardly noticing anything around herself, giving the world as little attention as possible, going through the motions of her life without actually being there any more than she had to. She left school as soon as she could without looking like she was ducking out and thought about casually walking over to Crawford Street – just to take a look at the mansion and not to go in at all because Angelus had said not to and she didn't want to do anything he didn't want her to – but headed home instead and waited for dusk.

He didn't come. Willow kept looking out the windows, checking to see if he was there, but he never was. Two hours had passed before she allowed herself to admit he wasn't coming to her. She forced herself to wait, because what if he did come to her while she was out going to him? After another hour, Willow decided she couldn't wait anymore and took off to find him.

The mansion seemed empty. “Hello?” she called out, standing in the doorway because that wasn't quite coming to him since she was still outside. Even if it really was disobeying, maybe she could convince him it wasn't. She was afraid to call out again, or to even be there without Angelus to protect her, because what if he had minions who didn't know that she was his true love, and they killed her before she could convince them? Still, she couldn't stand in the doorway all night. Someone might see her from the road, and that would definitely be disobeying since he didn't want anyone, meaning Buffy mostly, to know about their relationship.

Willow wandered until she found a bedroom. With its black silk sheets and his clothes in the closet, it had to be Angelus', but some of Drusilla's things were scattered across the floor. Willow wished she'd stabbed that pencil through Drusilla's heart when she'd had the chance. Resentful that Drusilla got to be with Angelus when she didn't, Willow started scrounging through the leather bag, the one Drusilla had carried the love spell components in, and found the doll that Drusilla had said was Spike. Willow felt as if a weight had been lifted off of her. “You poor thing,” she said, stroking the doll. “Have you been left all alone?”

On an impulse she whispered “me too” and kissed the doll. She could feel Spike kissing her back, his tongue slipping into her mouth and sliding against hers. She pulled the doll away and stared at it. How could a bunch of yarn make her feel like Spike had really kissed her? She brought the doll to her lips, bit at its neck, and made a face as she spat out yarn. Bleh. As she tried to work through what had just happened, wondering if she was perhaps losing her mind, Willow lowered her arm, accidentally brushing the doll against herself. Gentle teeth bit a line down her breast. “Oh,” she gasped as she angled the doll towards her nipple. Willow arched forward, and he took more in, sucking and nibbling and easing off to lick long lazy spirals around the curve of her breast.

“Oh my love,” Willow moaned, so lost in sensation that she no longer realized she was talking to a doll. Throwing herself on top of the black sheets, Willow lifted up her skirt and pulled the doll southwards. Kisses peppered their way down her belly only stopping when slow claps sounded from the doorway.

Willow sat up. “Angelus.”

“You putting on a show just for me? I haven't seen anything that hot since,” he paused and tilted his head as if lost in thought. “Let's just say Angel didn't go for that kind of thing.” He sauntered to the bed and pulled the doll out of her hand. With a grimace he tossed it aside. “You won't be needing any dollies.”

He towered over her as he gently brushed a finger along her cheek, and then, grabbing her by the hair, he yanked her off the bed. “Of course, you did disobey me.”

“No, I just had to see you,” Willow cried. “All I want to do is please you.”

“Please me, is it? I think I can come up with something.” He forced a finger into her mouth, thinking of it as an invasion, as a plundering of her will, ignoring her eagerness in his need to dominate her. He pulled his finger out and gently brushed his fingertips along either side of her jaw before grabbing her face in one huge hand and squeezing. Stopping just shy of leaving bruises, he shoved her to the ground, calculating what damage he could do that would remain unnoticed by her friends. “Suck my dick.”

With trembling hands and face alight with anticipation, Willow unzipped his pants. She blinked at the pleasant surprise, no underwear, and then her tongue darted out of her mouth, tasting his tip. Wrapping her lips around his cock, she engulfed him in one swift motion, taking him as deeply as she thought she could. It wasn't enough for Angelus. Grabbing her head to hold it still, he shoved himself deeper until the tightness of her throat, squeezing around his cock, sent shivers of pleasure up his body. When she started choking, he thought of taking her that way, of strangling her with his dick until her death rattle, forcing her to spasm around him, released him and shot his seed down her dying throat, but no. The love spell, that spot of magic making her subservient to him, meant she was an invaluable tool, at least while Buffy was still alive. So he satisfied himself by pulling out of that intense tightness, just long enough for her to drag in an almost adequate gasp of air, before shoving himself back in, time and time again, the tightness of her throat, the raw way she flinched from the pain, and the desperation of her gasps increasing the tension until, with a shudder that sent come spewing down her throat, he came.

As he zipped his pants up, Willow, choking on the rawness of her throat, wiped come and saliva off her face. “Try to make yourself presentable,” he growled, “and then get home. You shouldn't have come here in the first place.”

With a sense of abandonment, Willow watched Angelus leave the room without even a backward glance. As she picked herself up, her eyes lit on the Spike doll lying on the floor where Angelus had so casually tossed it aside. With a quick glance to the door, certain Angelus wouldn't approve, she shoved the doll into her pocket before following Angelus into what she thought of as the living room. He was standing, staring into the fire, and didn't even turn although he must have heard her enter the room. “You,” she stuttered, “will you visit me tomorrow?”

A look of fury flashed across his face, but only smiles and gentleness showed when he turned to her. “How could I stay angry with you, my love?” he asked, holding out his arms in invitation. She ran to him, holding him tenderly, and he wrapped his arm around her in return, holding her tightly in a cage of flesh and bone that Willow, bespelled into love, didn't see as a trap.

“I'll walk you home,” he said after a few moments, long to him but seeming like mere seconds to her. She smiled up at him, trusting that he'd always do what was best for them, and took his hand. He carefully pulled it out of hers. “I'll follow in the shadows to make sure you get safely home.” At her frown, he added, “We can't be seen together, not yet. You know that.”

“Will you stay with me until morning?”

He was about to deny her, trusting the love spell to ensure her loyalty, but then he thought about spending the night wrapped around a warm human body, with a woman who wanted him so badly she'd willingly and even happily do anything he desired. “How could I not?”

Willow's hand brushed against the doll hidden in her skirt. “I left my pack in the bedroom,” she said, crossing her fingers against the lie and hoping Angelus wouldn't recognize the bag as Drusilla's.


	5. Chapter 5

The sky was bright with the false dawn by the time Angelus left Willow. “Are you sure I can't come with you?” she asked, unwilling to let him leave.

“I need you to keep up on what Buffy is planning,” he explained.

“But she's not planning anything,” Willow said. “She doesn't even know you're Angelus again.”

“That will change. Now I really do have to go, unless you want your favorite vampire to turn to dust,” he teased.

“No! Go! Get home quickly,” she said, pushing him towards the door.

Willow sat on her bed and looked around the room, her eyes dim with the dread of another long day without Angelus. She didn't have anything to do. It was too early to get ready for school and besides she didn't much feel like it. Seeing her skirt, the one she'd worn the night before on the floor, she knelt down to pull out the Spike doll. As she put her hand in, she felt lips tickling over her palm with ghost kisses, so faint she almost couldn't feel them, but so passionate that the tingling raced all the way up her arm. Pulling out the doll, she held it way from herself but didn't let go. “None of that,” she told it. “I'm sure Angleus wouldn't approve.”

Under the sway of the love spell, Willow couldn't think of how Angelus' treatment of her, ranging from rough and brutal to indifferent, hadn't been that of a lover, but she did allow her pull to Spike more free reign than would have been possible if she'd been certain of Angelus' love. Willow's thoughts turned back to Drusilla's words, “This is my sweet Spikey. We need ashes for the spell.” She thought of the box Drusilla kept in her bag, the handful of ashes she'd taken from that box, and how she'd knotted them into the scarf they'd used in the spell.

“Spike?” she asked, staring at the doll. There was no response, but Willow was sure Spike was in there. She kissed the doll and felt lips kissing her back. “I'll get you out of there, I promise,” she said. Scrounging through her closet, Willow tossed on the the first clothes she found, more concerned with restoring Spike than with how she looked.

“Giles has a few books on vampire lore stored at the library. I just have to get there before he does, since I'm sure he wouldn't be happy with the whole giving you back your body thing.”

She paused at that as it sank in how right Angelus was to keep their love a secret. It felt so necessary to her, she could only dimly understand that others might not approve, that they might actively work to keep her and Angelus apart. “Maybe I shouldn't,” she said. “It would be a risk, taking the books, and if Giles found out he'd want to know why, and then maybe the whole Angelus is alive again thing would come out.” She didn't really know why she was trying to help Spike anyway; it wasn't as though he and Angelus were bestest buds – not from what she'd read in the Watcher diaries anyway – but then her gaze lit on the doll. “I can't leave you like this.” She didn't know why, but she needed Spike to be whole.

“I almost feel that I love you,” she said, trying to diminish her feelings with words, “but that can't be true. I love Angelus. I can't love both of you at the same time.”

After a quick bike trip to the school, Willow found the loose brick near the back entrance to the library and removed the key hidden there. “Good old predictable Giles,” she said. “Now don't you tell anyone about this,” she admonished towards the backpack where she'd stowed the Spike doll to keep him safe from sunlight, just in case it could still hurt him. “We don't need any demons sneaking up on our Scooby meetings.”

Willow quickly found the books she wanted, being on intimate terms with Giles' hidden stash of occult and supernatural references. “This one is about the Bloodclaim,” she told Spike, “where a human and vampire share blood, and it's like this really intense sexual experience, but that doesn't help us. Ooooh, and here's that spell you tried to use on Angel in the church.” She skimmed through the volumes, her attention caught by interesting spells every few minutes, until she heard a noise. Glancing up at the clock, she said, “A quarter after seven. I hope that's not Giles already.” She peeked out of his office but didn't see anyone, so she sneaked to the library doors, and opened them just enough to peer down the hallway. “Just a janitor, but I should probably get out of here before Giles shows up. Looks like we'll have to check out these books at home.”

Once she was settled in her own room again, Willow, nervous that Giles would miss his books and come looking, scanned through them as quickly as she could and found the spell she wanted within ten minutes. “This looks easy enough,” she told the doll. “All I need are your ashes, which are in the bag. At least I hope they are.” She found the box in Drusilla's bag, and tore off the lid, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw the ashes inside. “OK, then we need a few herbs, all of which I have, a set of runes – what kind of a witch would I be if I didn't have those – and water from a running source, which since there's a stream out back is no problem.”

About fifteen minutes later Willow was sitting inside a pentagram that was laid out in chalk dust on her bedroom carpet. Smoke rose from the censers where she'd dusted the herbs onto burning charcoal. Sprinkling water towards each of the four corners of the room, she called on ancient forces, “Keepers of Order, Guardians of the Gateway between Life and Death, I call you here.” She tossed the runes and, satisfied with what she saw, continued with the spell. “My Beloved lies torn from me,” she said, not realizing what title she'd given Spike, “trapped in a form not his own. Return unto him his rightful body, which was ruthlessly stolen from him.” Willow took a handful of ashes and let them fall out of her hand onto the runes. Red streams, long and flowing strings of light, reminding her of a tiny Aurora Borealis, flew out of the carpet, twirling around the room, until they focused on the doll, spinning around him so tightly and shining with such force that Willow had to cover her eyes from the blinding light.

“Bloody hell it feels good to move gain.”

Blinking her eyes open, Willow called out, “Spike?”

“Red,” he replied, his voice suddenly husky.

She was so overjoyed to see Spike that Willow barely noticed he was naked, as she threw herself into his arms. “Oh my love,” she said, kissing any part of his face she could reach. “You don't know how hard it's been without you.”

“Hasn't been easy for me either,” he said, grabbing her head still so his lips could meet hers in a proper kiss.

* * *

 

Drusilla screamed. Angelus, leaping from their bed, scanned the room from a fighting stance. After a moment, not sensing any danger nearby, he turned to Drusilla who, having yanked open the trunk at the foot of the bed, was tossing aside anything she could find: chains, a couple of old dolls she'd long discarded, a deck of Tarot cards. Once the trunk was empty, she stood and gazed around the room, her eyes darting here and there, never setting on any one thing, as if she couldn't even begin to see what she was searching for. “It went wrong,” she said, grabbing Angelus' arm. “I didn't want it to bind you to Willow, but it had to bind somebody.”

“Who could it have bound?”

“I used Spike's ashes. Nobody, nobody, nobody else but Spike,” she said in an almost chant.

“Dru, honey? Spike is dead. If some part of him loves Willow in whatever hell he's ended up in, who cares?” Angelus asked with a shrug.

“Oh yeah,” Drusilla agreed with an uncertain smile, as if part of her was sure they were missing something important.

* * *

 

Willow let out a dismayed gasp as Spike pulled away. “Shhh, not going anywhere, luv.” His eyes raked down her body so intimately that his gaze felt like a caress. “You've got too many clothes on.”

Willow was so entranced by the sound of his voice, as husky as smoke but as smooth as silk, that it took few moments for his meaning to register. She started tearing off her shirt.

“Hey,” he cried out. Willow stopped, arms akimbo, almost stuck inside her sweater, which was raised high enough that her bra peeped through below. “Allow me,” he added.

He grazed his fingers over her bra, tweaking nipples in passing. When Willow arched forward, pushing into his hand, he gave her a knowing smirk as he moved his hand south, brushing it over her torso in long, lazy spirals.

“Spike,” Willow moaned. “Clothes off now, please?”

“We've got all day,” he replied, slipping a finger under the top of her skirt and tugging down. With his eyes glued to the curve of her hips, revealed as he'd pulled the skirt down, he said, “Um, yeah, you're right.” Willow's world became a blur of pink sweater being pulled up over her face as he added, “Faster is better.” Spike arched a finger under one bra strap, pulling it along her arm, kissing in its wake. Willow tangled her fingers through his hair as he nibbled his way to her neck, and she let out a small moan as human teeth grazed across her jugular, losing track of time in an ecstasy of touches, nibbles, and kisses. She was surprised, but not unpleased, to notice she was naked when he whooshed her up in his arms.

She brought her lips to his, her tongue slipping into his mouth, entranced by the tingling of her lips as he carried her across the room until, with an “ow” from a toe stubbed against the leg of a bed, he pulled his head back. He laid her on the bed reverently, holding her as if she were a precious pearl until he was certain she couldn't fall. “Are you ready for me, my love?”

“Yes.” Willow breathed out the word, as if speaking were almost too much at that moment.

He slipped his thumb along her slit. “Oh, so wet for me.” Brushing his hand over her bush, tickling her short hairs until she squirmed, he said, “Open up, love.” Head followed hand but then paused. When he raised his face to look up at her, lust had been replaced by awe. “You're so beautiful.”

“So are you,” Willow replied.

“Which?” he asked with a confident smile. “Beautiful or your love?”

“Yes.”

Spike gazed at Willow for a moment longer before, unable to resist the siren call of her musk, the heady scent filling the room, he slipped his tongue into her. His eyes widened in awe. He'd never tasted anything so wonderful. If this was just her come, what must her blood taste like? “Oh my love, I'm going to drain every last drop of you.”

Spike swam in Willow like a seal in the sea, his tongue exploring, caressing sensitive folds of skin, and flickering over her clit, diving deeper and faster, sinking further down into her until Willow started bucking against him, desperate to release the mounting tension. “Ready for the main show, are we?” Spike asked as he nibbled his way up her belly.

“No,” Willow shouted.

His head darted up in surprise, and Willow couldn't help but smile at his adorably confused expression. “I,” she said with a blush, “I want to be on top of you when we come.”

Raising himself to a kneeling position, looking like the cat who'd eaten the canary, Spike said, “I could never deny you, my lady.”

Even before he'd settled himself on the bed, Willow was upon him, her thrusts as powerful as waves crashing against rocks at the edge of the sea. To Spike she looked like a wild thing, untamed and primal as she rode him, pushing harder and faster. Wrapping his legs around her, he thrust back, their rhythms becoming one as they crashed into each other. As he felt her about to come, Spike called Willow to him, and she came, their bodies merging so closely they seemed to be almost one as fangs pierced throat. Willow shuddered and screamed, coming at last as Spike, true to his word, drained her down.

As Willow neared death, Spike, cradling her in his arms, cut a line across his chest and brought her lips up, crooning, “There, there my love, now we'll be together forever,” as she drank deeply of his blood.


	6. Chapter 6

“Giles,” Buffy called out, shoving her way through the library doors. “Giles!”

Walking out of his office with a distracted air, Giles called out to Buffy, “Oh good, I was hoping to see you. Something odd...”

“Willow is missing.”

Giles stopped and stared at Buffy. “Are you sure?”

“We share a second period class, and she wasn't there so I asked around. Nobody's seen her,” Buffy said.

“Perhaps she's ill,” Giles offered.

“This is Willow we're talking about. The last time she missed a class, Malcolm had kidnapped her,” Buffy snapped out.

“Malcolm? Right, the demon in the robot's body,” he said. “Oh,” he added, catching Buffy's meaning. He pulled off his glasses and started cleaning them. “I, uh, suppose we could call Faith and have her investigate.”

“I'm going over there myself.” When Giles started explaining why she should stay at school, Buffy added, “She's my best friend.”

“Fine, but I'm driving, however, before we go there is something you should know. Some of my books are missing.”

“Giles,” Buffy almost shouted. “I think Willow disappearing is more important than a bunch of books.”

Giles shook his head. “That's not my point. Each of the books taken pertains to vampire lore, dark magic mostly. Some of the spells require human blood, and I'm thinking of those that specifically need the blood of a witch.”

“Drusilla,” Buffy shouted. “Drusilla took Willow's pencil the other night. Maybe she came back and grabbed Willow?”

“I don't know. With Angel watching Willow, she should have been safe, but I did want to prepare you for the possibility.”

* * *

Spike, dressed in the only thing he could find that fit, a pair of purple sweatpants, was passing the long hours until Willow's rising by searching for something she could wear in her closet. While she would, naturally, look perfect in anything, nothing there was good enough for his beautiful vampire. Still, she probably shouldn't run around naked while they went hunting for clothes. “Got to be something here that's not total trash,” he was saying, when the doorbell rang.

He froze.

“She's not answering,” he heard the Slayer say.

“Give her a moment. If she is ill, it'll take her time to come to the door,” the Watcher replied.

Spike grabbed Willow's corpse, desperately looked around for a hiding place, and then dove under the bed, taking care to make sure his love didn't get banged in the process.

“I'm going in,” Buffy said. He heard a key in the lock; it sounded like windows slamming open in the middle of the day, letting the sunlight in. Spike kept as still as only a vampire could, certain the Slayer was going to find them at any moment and end his unlife, which he could live with, except she'd kill Willow as well, and he wasn't about to stand for that.

Willow's bedroom door slammed open, and a moment later a shout rang out, in the Slayer's strident voice. “Giles!”

“Buffy,” Giles called out. “It looks like a love spell was performed in the kitchen.” Joining Buffy in Willow's bedroom, he added, “Good lord.” Footsteps walked around the bed as Giles started listing out components, “A pentagram laid out in chalk, censers although I can't tell what they were filled with, other than some sort of herb mixture, and hmmm runes.” He paused for a moment and then added decisively, “Buffy, there's no blood.”

“Huh?” came a tearful query from the doorway.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he whispered, “find us already so I can fight you or get the hell out of here.”

“Whatever spell was done here, and we can't say for certain it was Drusilla at this point, it almost certainly didn't require human blood,” Giles said.

“How can you be sure? I mean, if she drained Will,” Buffy trailed off. Spike smiled, enjoying both the Slayer's distress and ignorance even though he was still worried about Willow's safety.

“Trust me, human blood in vampire spells rarely gets drained – the spell used by the Master being one of the few notable exceptions. It would be splashed all over, well, let's just say any human blood would be highly visible,” Giles said.

“What kind of spell was it? Do you think it was Drusilla's work?” Buffy asked.

“I'm not sure what the spell was. We should get the books back to the library, and I'll start researching. I doubt it was Drusilla. Willow knew better than to invite a vampire into her home. I'm starting to think Willow took the books, although how she knew of them I don't know since I kept them hidden behind... Well, never mind where.”

Buffy's voice sounded almost dead as she replied, “Willow might have invited Drusilla in to get her lucky pencil back.”

“Her what? You can't be serious,” Giles exclaimed.

“You didn't see how upset she was. She'd have done almost anything to get that stupid pencil back,” Buffy said.

“Surely she wouldn't have...” There was a pause, and then Giles added, “We need to know more about the spells, especially the one performed here in Willow's bedroom, before we can determine a course of action. I'll take notes on the setup of each spell, placement of components, what was used where, that sort of thing, and then we can work this out back at the library.”

“I should call Angel,” Buffy said. “Maybe he knows something.”

As Buffy reached over to pick up Willow's phone, Giles shouted out “No.” There was a pause, and then Spike heard, “I'd prefer to document the setup of this spell, since it's the one I don't recognize, before you, um, before it's disrupted.”

Buffy's voice sounded like thrown knives. “I'm not going to disturb the scene of the crime.”

“I didn't mean,” Giles started. “It's just that spells are very specific, and the slightest movement of components could set my research back by days.”

“Fine, I'll call from the kitchen,” Buffy muttered as she headed out the room.

“The kitchen? Where the other spell is? Aren't there any other phones in the house, preferably not near the remnants of the spells?” Giles hurried out after her. “Oh,” he called out to Buffy, “and ask Angel about the spell in Willow's bedroom. Perhaps he'll recognize it.”

Spike waited until he could hear their voices in the kitchen, Giles' sounding like he was walking on eggshells around the Slayer, telling Buffy to be careful about some potion she'd almost knocked over, and then Buffy on the phone, presumably with Angel. Slipping out of Willow's room, Spike opened a couple of doors, finding a bathroom and a master bedroom, which he guessed belonged to Willow's parents. Knowing that Giles would be scrounging around Willow's bedroom, possibly even getting down onto the floor, Spike figured that the other bedroom had to be a better hiding place. As quietly as he could, Spike carried Willow to the other room and slid her under her parents' bed, pulling the covers down so she'd be invisible from the doorway, and then hid himself in the closet, ready to fight if they were found.

An agonizingly long hour later, after the front door had closed behind Buffy and Giles, Spike peered through the window and watched them drive away, before speaking to Willow as he let the curtains close behind him. “I should never have Turned you here,” he said, looking towards her hiding place. “It's too vulnerable. I'm sorry pet. I should be taking better care of you.”

* * *  
Angelus picked up the phone. His face broke into a grin, wide enough to brighten the room as he heard who was on the other end. “Buffy!”

He listened to Buffy for a moment and asked, “What do you mean, Willow is missing?” Thunderstorms danced in his eyes. “Drusilla? Are you sure?” He waved Dru over. “Willow didn't mention anything about a spell when I walked her home,” he responded truthfully. Grabbing Dru by the throat, he added, “Sure, describe it.”

Holding the phone away, he whispered to Dru, “What did you do to my witch?”

“I made her love you,” Dru replied.

“After that,” he said before bringing the phone back up so he could speak to Buffy. “It doesn't sound like anything I'm familiar with.” After a pause, he added, “I don't know what Dru's been up to, but I'll see what I can find out.”

Rolling his eyes as Buffy jabbered on, he asked Dru, his voice pitched so it wouldn't carry to the phone, “What did you do?”

“Nothing. She's yours,” she replied, as if that said it all. It did. Drusilla was too obedient a Childe to touch anything of Angelus' without permission. “What's wrong?”

“Willow is missing,” he told Dru, forgetting to modulate his voice in his anger. “Huh?” he said into the phone. “Sorry, I was just repeating that Willow is missing; trying to get used to the idea.” After a pause he added, “No, I'm pretty sure I'll know something this evening.” He waited impatiently for Buffy to finish. “OK, see you tonight.”

Angelus threw the phone against the wall. “Damn it. What happened to her?”

“You care?” Dru asked.

“No, I don't care, but she belongs to me. I told her to go to school, and she didn't. If it's just her disobeying, well I can punish her for that, but this feels like something else, and I don't know what.”

“You mentioned a spell?” Dru asked, focusing on the part of the conversation that bothered her. “There's something just out of reach. The stars are singing discordant tunes full of double meanings, hidden motivations, and dire warnings, but I can't quite hear them.”

Drusilla could see tiny bubbles, as fragile as glass, floating about the room, carrying her answers inside, but only the gentlest touch would allow her to catch one. She reached out, quite carefully, and had just gotten one sitting on her hand when Angelus' words, as sharp as cut glass, ripped through the bubbles, bursting them all. She let out a small gasp as all her pretty answers shimmered through the room like fairy dust before vanishing into nothingness.

“Buffy saw the remnants of Willow's love spell and doesn't know what it is,” Angelus said with a laugh. Shivering, Dru wrapped her shawl more closely around her shoulders. “She thinks you want Willow for her blood, to use in a spell of your own.”

Unable to hear the stars' songs, Dru forgot the whispered warnings that hadn't quite reached her ears and, allowing herself to be distracted by Angelus' words, replied, “So many spells use witch's blood.”

“Not until I'm done with her.”

* * *

Spike dressed Willow in the first thing that came to hand – the shirt a set of horizontal stripes of browns, oranges, and golds, along with a short-skirted green jumper – being more concerned with getting her stowed someplace safe than with what she looked like to others. As soon as the sun was low enough, he stashed her in a stolen car and made a run for the closest cemetery, searching for a spot that looked like it wouldn't be disturbed.

The von Hauptmann crypt, located in an almost abandoned corner of Shady Rest, hadn't seen guests in decades. Its dust swirled around Spike's feet as he carried Willow in. He hid her in one of the stone coffins, furthest of three from the door, leaning over to kiss her cold lips before pulling the lid over her resting place. “Sleep well, pet. I've got a bit of business to take care of, but I'll return as soon as I can. Try not to wake up till I get back, OK?”

Spike went looking for weapons. He knew that Willow loved him, and who could blame her, but she also seemed to be infatuated with Angelus. That wasn't going to stand.

He knew of a demon, a crafter whose knives and swords had a balance unmatched by any other weapons Spike had ever wielded. Unfortunately he didn't have time for the trip, which was about fifteen miles outside of Sunnydale, not when there was a weaponry shop in town. It was called a sporting goods store, a hunting supply store, or some such nonsense, and it didn't carry swords, which was a pity, but crossbows and knives, now that would be useful.

Spike was just a couple of blocks away from the shop when he saw a vampire, dressed in a suit with bits of grave dirt still caked around the edges, dragging some human bint into an alley. Not that thrilled with the clothes, not only was it a suit but it was a cheap one at that, with a thick weave, but figuring they it was better than wearing sweatpants, Spike decided to intervene. As a bonus, he'd get the woman for dinner. He wasn't all that hungry yet, but he hadn't eaten in, hell it had been a while, hadn't it? He'd been a doll for the better part of a week, and then he'd had Willow's blood, but he'd given most of that back to her in the Turning.

“Hand over your clothes and this won't have to get ugly,” he called out as he stepped into the alleyway.

The vamp turned, still in game-face, as if that was going to scare him off. Why'd he always get stuck dealing with the dumb ones? “I don't have time for this, boy,” he said, shifting into a fighting stance.

The vampire lunged forward, only to trip on Spike's outstretched foot. Grabbing the vampire by the jacket, Spike yanked him around and slammed him into the wall before, with a flick of his wrist, he sent the vampire staggering backwards where it vanished into a cloud of dust.

“Hey,” he shouted, “I needed him alive.”

“Are you mentally deficient?” The dark-haired girl, in a delightfully tight top, was obviously a Slayer but apparently new to the job since she didn't recognize him as a vampire.

“Needed his clothes,” Spike explained.

She gave an appreciative leer towards his naked torso. “Guess you do at that. What happened?”

“This is what magic'll do to ya.”

“Magic?” she asked with a snort. “What the hell do you know about magic?”

“I know you're the Slayer,” he replied, starting to wonder if he could use her against Angelus. “The name's William,” he added, almost telling her he was Spike before realizing she might recognize the name.

“Faith,” she replied with a nod of her head. “You some kind of demon hunter?”

“Something like that,” Sike said.

“Yeah, well leave the demon killing to the experts,” she replied. Hearing a whimper from the ground, she asked the girl if she was OK. Getting a terrified nod in response, Faith added, “You should get out of here.” As the girl ran for the street, Faith called out, “Get home fast and don't go out at night.” Turning to Spike she added, “You still here? I thought I told you to buzz off.”

“You up for a real challenge?” Spike asked Faith.

Giving him another leer, she said, “You think you can take me on?”

Spike briefly wondered why he always got stuck dealing with the idiots. If Angelus wanted something, they immediately pegged what was up. Nobody ever thought Angelus was making a seductive play, mostly because he was busy tearing their guts out but still. Should be easy enough to get a Slayer back on track though. “Angelus,” was all he said.

She froze. “The vampire.”

“That's the one,” Spike replied.

“I heard he was a good guy now,” she said.

“You heard wrong.”

“I've got it on good authority,” she replied.

“Then your intel is out of date. He got happy a few nights back, and now he's up to his old tricks,” Spike explained.

“That bitch,” Faith exploded. “I can't believe Buffy bagged him again, knowing it would turn him, and didn't say a thing. What? Is she gonna let him kill all her friends before even trying to stop him?”

“Don't know about that, but I wouldn't mind some help taking him out,” Spike said.

“Lead on,” she replied.

“Was just gonna stop and pick up some weapons, and then we can be on our way.”

* * *

In an abandoned corner of a cemetery, in a crypt shut against the world, where no light could enter to disturb the sleeping darkness, the lid of a tomb erupted from its resting place and shattered against a cold, stone wall. A voice called out from the tomb. “Spike? Angelus?”


	7. Chapter 7

“You sure this is the place?” Faith asked as she looked at the mansion that glowed faintly in the moonlight as if it were more a vision than an actual building.

“You didn't know?” Spike asked.

“It's not like Buffy was big on sharing where she kept her undead boytoy.”

“Yeah, this is it,” Spike said, tossing his bag of weapons to the ground where it would be hidden by bushes. “We should scout around and...”

“You wait here, where it's safe.”

As Faith raced into the nearest doorway, the one that went from the garden to the mansion's main living room, she looked more like a rabid animal ready to tear into anything it could find than a trained hound on a scent. “Or we could rush right in,” Spike added as he raced in after her only to find Angelus rising from the couch, smiling and looking for all the world as innocent as Angel. “No Slayer is ever gonna believe you're harmless, mate,” Spike said, trying to undermine whatever Angelus was about to say.

Any reply that Angelus might have made was drowned out by scream, a wail of pure terror, coming from Angelus' bedroom. As Drusilla ran into the room, her eyes immediately settled on Spike. Screaming “you can't be back,” she launched herself at him, nails ready to slash at him like claws. Sidestepping out of her way, Spike grabbed Drusilla's arm and, with a flick of his wrist, sent her flying across the room and crashing into the garden doorway.

“I guess the rumors are true. Angelus is back,” Faith said.

“What can I say,” Angelus replied with a smirk. “I'm a hard guy to keep down.”

Faith pulled out a blade, not as long as a sword, but wicked sharp. “Let's see what we can do about that,” she replied, lunging at him, her blade held high, ready to strike.

A thin trickle of blood trailed down from Drusilla's lip. “You have to go back into the doll, Spike.” Her words were a threat. “If you're in your body, Daddy dies.”

“That'd be what I'm aiming for, pet.”

Angelus, grabbing a fire poker, blocked Faith's blade and, taking a swivel step that turned him around so he was standing next to her, slammed her blade to the ground. As her weapon fell from her hand, Faith jabbed her elbow into Angelus' ribs and then sent her fist flying into his face.

With a quick glance out the door, past Drusilla and toward the bushes where he'd hidden his weapons, Spike briefly regretted leaving the bag behind. “No more spells, got it?” he told Drusilla.

“The spell,” she said, gazing off at nothing.

Spike relaxed, just a bit, but didn't take his eyes off of Drusilla. She wouldn't attack while entranced, but he didn't entirely trust that it wasn't a trick. “The Lord of the House of Aurelius, it's just like you said. The spell was supposed to work on two souls – vampire and human – but I didn't want Daddy loving the witch. It picked you instead.”

Faith flew past Spike and crashed against the wall on the other side of the doorway, the side across from Drusilla. Casually, as if she didn't care what happened, Drusilla removed a comb from her hair and threw it at Faith. It cut Faith's shoulder, not sticking into her but drawing blood.

Spike landed on Drusilla so hard they both crashed into the doorway behind her. “It's not a bloody spell. I love Willow, and she loves me.”

Outside of the mansion, green eyes peered out from behind the bushes, eyes that darted off of Spike only long enough to try and fix on Angelus, half-hidden behind Spike whose hands were squeezing Drusilla's throat shut. Willow, aiming for a better view of Angelus, was shifting leftward a few steps when her leg hit Spike's hidden bag. “What could you be?”

Faith, trying to stand, fell to the floor. “What the?”

Angelus strolled over. “The comb,” he explained, picking up the hairpiece and examining it as if admiring its ornate golden scrolls. “It wasn't poisoned exactly, but the toxin will leave you, let's say somewhat out of commission for a couple of hours. Well it would if you were going to live that long.” As he lifted Faith up, her arms and legs dangled down like those of a rag doll.

“No,” she whispered, unable to raise her voice, as fangs bit into her neck.

Drusilla, bracing herself against the doorframe, kicked Spike across the room and threw herself after him.

“Angel,” Buffy called out, pushing through the front door. “Have you found anything out about Drusil...” She pulled out a stake at the sight of Drusilla trying to pin Spike to the floor while he bucked wildly beneath her. As she scanned the room, an automatic response after years of slaying, Buffy saw Angelus drop Faith to the ground.

“Lover,” he said.

Willow's head jerked up at the word. Gazing at Angelus, her eyes narrowed as she pulled a crossbow out of Spike's bag.

“Angel?” Buffy asked, knowing he wasn't.

“Not quite,” Angelus confirmed.

“How?” Buffy asked, her knuckles whitening as her fist tightened on the stake.

Punching Spike in the jaw, Drusilla threw herself into a forward-roll that took her past Spike and up into a fighting stance. She turned to face Spike, just in time to see him leaping to his feet.

“He's got to die,” Spike said. “Nothing personal, well no, lots of it is personal, but bottom line? I'm not having him standing between me and Willow.”

“Willow,” Angelus replied to Buffy's question.

“What did you do to her?” Buffy asked.

“You really are dense, aren't you? She and Angel made sweet, sweet love, and I mean that quite literally. It really was sweet, and I should know since I was there, well in a sense. She made him happy, which allowed me to come out to play.”

“You don't love her.” There was certainty in Buffy's voice.

“As a matter of fact, I don't, but she loves me, which is what really matters,” Angelus replied.

“A love spell,” Buffy said.

“Giles finally came through, did he?” Angelus replied with a smirk. “Willow loves Angelus, Angel loved Willow, and here I am reaping the benefits.”

Spike punched Drusilla in the gut, again and again, until she doubled over in pain. “Willow loves me,” he shouted at Angelus, “and I'm gonna make sure you never lay another dirty finger on her.”

Drusilla, grabbing the fire poker from the floor, slammed it into Spike's head, sending him reeling across the room. “You are not going to hurt Daddy.”

“I thought you killed him Dru,” Angelus said. “I'm not loving how easily he came back.”

“He'll stay dead this time,” she said, stalking towards Spike.

“That's my girl,” Angelus replied. His torso arched forward as a wooden arrow burst out the front of his chest. He was turning to see who had killed him when his eyes turned to dust.

“I'm your girl; your only girl. That bitch doesn't get you.” Willow, standing in the doorway, crossbow in hand, shifted her aim until the weapon was pointed at Drusilla. “He's mine.”

Drusilla's gaze remained fixed on Angelus' ashes. “He's dead. He's not anyone's.”

“I killed him,” Willow replied. “That makes him mine forever.”

“Willow?” Buffy said. “You're getting really big with the creepy.”

With Drusilla's attention on the ashes, Spike slowly raised himself from the floor.

“Slayer,” Willow said, aiming her crossbow at Buffy, who shifted into a fighting stance, turning her body to give Willow as small a target as possible.

“When did you get turned?” Buffy choked on the words.

“Don't see how that matters,” Willow said,” except how many vampires can say they killed a Slayer on their first night?”

Just as Spike was reaching over to grab the poker, Drusilla turned to him. Something hurt and vulnerable in her stance froze him in place. “Spike, leave the Hellmouth to me.”

“Don't see why I should do you any favors,” he replied. “My Red wants to bag herself a Slayer, who am I to deny her?”

“Please,” Drusilla said. “You have everything now.”

“And whose fault is that?” Spike asked. At Drusilla's pout, he gave in. “Fine,” he said, gesturing towards Buffy.

As Drusilla launched herself at the Slayer, Spike stepped between Willow's crossbow and the fight. “Come on, luv. Let's get out of here.”

“What?” Willow hissed. “You're going to let her win?”

Spike glanced over his shoulder at the fight. As Buffy lashed a leg out in a vicious kick, Drusilla sidestepped, grabbed the leg,and used Buffy's momentum to throw her across the room. “She didn't win. You and I, we've got each other, but Dru's lost everything. Let her have this fight.”

“I don't see why I should.”

“Do it for me,” Spike said. “I, well I can't say that I owe her, but we had a history. She never hurt me, no, that's not true, she hurt me plenty, especially with that turning me into a doll bit, but that worked out all right. I wouldn't have you if it weren't for Dru.”

Willow glared at Drusilla, who was backing away as Buffy swung a torch at her. “OK,” she agreed reluctantly, “but if she ever tries to take you back, I'll torture her for a year before I kill her.”

Spike laughed as he took her hand, bringing it to his lips. His gaze caught hers as he kissed along her fingertips. “She could try all she wanted to. Now that I've found you, she's nothing.”

* * *

 

“Now there's a phallic symbol,” Willow said, gazing at the pale Corinthian column at the center of Union Square. If she'd still been human, undoubtedly she'd have done a ton of research so she could bore people with enough trivial information to fill a trolley car. The night was new, dusk having fallen only an hour ago, but Willow was bored already and had only bothered to comment at all because her words gave Spike an opportunity to make a sexual innuendo. Predictable that, but Spike was utterly charming, and she enjoyed pleasing him in little ways. “But you said we could go shopping,” she said, pouting in response to his remark, not that she'd actually heard it. Knowing what he'd say, she hadn't bothered to listen to his words.

“Pet,” he replied, sounding shocked. “You'd rather shop than shag?”

“I'd rather dress you in a blue so pale that your skin glows against it as I shred it off of you.”

He looked pleased at that. “Who am I to deny you, luv?” With a nod of his head, he added, “This way.”

They skirted around the park, walking in the street and laughing as a driver, trying to avoid crashing into them, hit his breaks and veered off into the next lane, almost running into another car. When they came to the gate – whose white metal top formed an inverted arch – that only let foot traffic onto the street, Wilow asked, sounding as if it were the greatest tragedy, “No more cars to play with?”

“They'll be other amusements,” Spike replied.

Wrapping one arm around the lamppost to the right of the gate, Willow leaned off of it as she gazed up at the balconies and ladders arrayed above the street. “What a lovely idea for a hunt,” she said to Spike, swinging around the post until she was close enough for a kiss. “We could hide in plain sight, right above the street, picking and choosing our victims before swooping down to play.”

“I thought you wanted to shop.”

With a nod, Willow agreed. “Some other time,” she said, gesturing towards the balconies. As they passed a group of cafe tables, set in the middle of the street, Willow grabbed a Guinness, drained it, and slammed the glass back down. “Thanks,” she told the young man, a guy as big as Angel through the shoulders, who'd stood up, his hands clenched into fists, as if ready to punch her until she'd put the glass down, and he got a good look at her.

Taking in her outfit, his eyes stopped at her breasts, covered by a flimsy fishnet fabric. The black leather roses, sewn over her nipples, barely kept her top from being out and out illegal. “No problem,” he replied. “Would you like another?”

Spike strode out from behind Willow, ready to kill, but she grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her waist. “Move your eyes or lose 'em,” Spike growled since Willow wasn't letting him near the bloody bastard.

They guy raised himself up taller, obviously ready to take on Spike, but Willow stepped between them, the white of her hips flashing above her black leather pants. “The next time someone offers you good advice, take it.” Biting down, she yanked off a chunk of earlobe. He fell to the ground screaming.

“You should have let me finish playing with him,” she told Spike as they strolled down the street, passing under the colorful signs and banners that proclaimed the trendy and upscale shops that lived on Maiden Lane: Xanadu Gallery, Diptyque, Chanel, Britex Fabrics.

“You don't get to play with anybody who looks at you like that.”

“Except you,” Willow said, stopping to kiss him. When she opened her eyes again, wondering if perhaps shagging was the better option, her gaze was caught by a flash of blue in a store window halfway down the street. Grabbing Spike's hand, she ran to the shop. “That,” she said, pointing to a shirt, pale blue with such a small touch of turquoise that the color barely registered. “You would look wonderful in that.”

“You think so?” Spike asked, finding the cut too conservative.

“What that shade of blue, your skin would shimmer like ice.”

As Spike pulled open the shop door, a mechanized bell chimed above them. Willow started towards the rack of blue she'd seen in the window, but then veered left, heading towards red silk, tossing clothes and accessories to the floor in passing, while Spike locked the door behind them.

A woman, with a very formal bun, not a hair out of place, in a conservative, tasteful suit, stepped out from behind the counter. Her focus darted between Willow and Spike as if deciding which of them to deal with first. “Excuse me.” Deciding the locked door was the bigger issue, her voice, gentle but firm, addressed Spike. “We aren't closed.”

“And you are?” Spike asked, deciding to insinuate himself with the woman, to make her think they might cooperate, giving her that small bit of hope before killing her.

“Miss Wilson,” she said. When Spike looked at her expectantly without responding, she added, “Edith.”

When she'd been a girl, Edith and her cousin had fed mice to a pet python, staring at fascination at the act of predation. Spike's gaze reminded her of that snake's unblinking stare. As he continued to look her over, she felt as if to him she was nothing more than a thing to be used and discarded, a husk whose life could easily be drained of meaning and then forgotten. A slow smile spread across Spike's face as she took a step back.

“I think I'd like you in this,” Willow called out, holding up a red silk shirt as she scrutinized Spike.

“I do prefer to be draped in red,” he smirked.

Willow dropped the shirt, lighting up like a lover who, after a long absence, has finally spotted a glimpse of her beloved, enough to send her rushing into his arms. As tongues danced together and hands groped at breast and ass, Edith started backing away.

“Leave now, or I'm calling the police,” she asserted. Edith winced at the unwanted quiver she'd heard in her own voice, but that became the least of her concerns as the two turned towards her, revealing fangs and yellow eyes in faces that were no longer human. Edith shifted into a fighting stance, a half-remembered move from a self-defense class her mother had insisted on when she was in junior high.

“Oh good,” Willow said, sounding almost bored to the clerk's ears. “This one is going to try to fight.”

Hearing a gasp from the back of the shop, Spike looked over to see a woman at the dressing room door, her arms full of clothes, a jumble of pinks and pale greens. “You have your fun Red, and I'll make sure any other guests don't leave the party early.”

As Spike started stalking towards her, the woman at the back of the store let out a squeak and, stepping around a corner, vanished into the dressing room area. Spike paused, certain of his prey, to watch Willow, admiring how she shimmered as she moved, her hair dancing like fairy blood, and he'd been with Dru much too long if that was the image that came to him, but it was true all the same. Willow's hair pulsed, seemingly alive, with every step she took to block the clerk's ineffective attacks. “Oh,” Willow said, “you're going to have to do much better than that if you want to live.”

Turning back to his victim, Spike stepped around the corner into a hallway full of doors. The sound from the front of the store was muted, as if he'd traveled miles in those few short steps. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Spike called, knowing full when, by the heartbeats thundering from the second room on the left, where the woman was. “Are you in here?” he asked as he yanked open the first door, smiling as her heartbeats picked up. “How about here?” he called out, opening a door on the right. He skipped past the next room, the one where the woman was hiding, to open two more doors past her, loudly calling out at each one, before silently sneaking back and ripping her door off its hinges. Spike barely noticed the woman cowering in the corner.

Drusilla stood in the mirror, dressed in that pale, flowery outfit she'd picked up in Rio, holding the doll, that abomination she'd forced him into, carelessly at her side. They looked so real that Spike glanced down to check he was in his own body. “Get out of my head, Dru.”

The doll turned to dust, drifting down from Dru's hand. As it hit the ground, sparks flew up, dancing like spinning stars, twirling madly about the room.

“No,” Spike whispered, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the truth. “She's not like you; she loves me. It's not a spell.”

“You can't hide from what you know,” he heard Dru say.

Opening his eyes, Spike saw flames in the mirror, burning behind Dru. Her clothes had changed. The dress was black where the other had been white, and where the other had hugged the curves of her body, this one was full, with a black bustle trailing behind, its top covered in black ribbons with tiny pearl buttons down the front. A veil covered her face.

“What do you know about love, you cold bitch? All you ever cared about was Angelus' approval.” He kicked the mirror, sending shards shattering over the woman who crouched even smaller, covering herself with her arms. As he yanked her off the floor, shards of glass cut into her skin. “Scream,” he told her.

“Please don't kill me,” she cried, snot mixing with tears as she begged for mercy.

“Scream,” he snarled, grabbing a finger and breaking it with a tiny snap.

Her screams echoed like bells in the tiny room, but they weren't loud enough to drown out Dru's voice, speaking words Spike never wanted to hear again. “Love is never eternal.”


End file.
